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_ Lily, going to bed early, had left the couple to themselves; and
it seemed part of the general mystery in which she moved that
more than an hour should elapse before she heard Bertha walk down
the silent passage and regain her room. The morrow, rising on an
apparent continuance of the same conditions, revealed nothing of
what had occurred between the confronted pair. One fact alone
outwardly proclaimed the change they were all conspiring to
ignore; and that was the non-appearance of Ned Silverton. No one
referred to it, and this tacit avoidance of the subject kept it
in the immediate foreground of consciousness. But there was
another change, perceptible only to Lily; and that was that
Dorset now avoided her almost as pointedly as his wife. Perhaps
he was repenting his rash outpourings of the previous day;
perhaps only trying, in his clumsy way, to conform to Selden's
counsel to behave "as usual." Such instructions no more make for
easiness of attitude than the photographer's behest to "look
natural"; and in a creature as unconscious as poor Dorset of the
appearance he habitually presented, the struggle to maintain a
pose was sure to result in queer contortions.
It resulted, at any rate, in throwing Lily strangely on her own
resources. She had learned, on leaving her room, that Mrs. Dorset
was still invisible, and that Dorset had left the yacht early;
and feeling too restless to remain alone, she too had herself
ferried ashore. Straying toward the Casino, she attached herself
to a group of acquaintances from Nice, with whom she lunched, and
in whose company she was returning to the rooms when she
encountered Selden crossing the square. She could not, at the
moment, separate herself definitely from her party, who had
hospitably assumed that she would remain with them till they took
their departure; but she found time for a momentary pause of
enquiry, to which he promptly returned: "I've seen him
again--he's just left me."
She waited before him anxiously. "Well? what has happened? What
WILL happen?"
"Nothing as yet--and nothing in the future, I think."
"It's over, then? It's settled? You're sure?"
He smiled. "Give me time. I'm not sure--but I'm a good deal
surer." And with that she had to content herself, and hasten on
to the expectant group on the steps.
Selden had in fact given her the utmost measure of his sureness,
had even stretched it a shade to meet the anxiety in her eyes.
And now, as he turned away, strolling down the hill toward the
station, that anxiety remained with him as the visible
justification of his own. It was not, indeed, anything specific
that he feared: there had been a literal truth in his declaration
that he did not think anything would happen. What troubled him
was that, though Dorset's attitude had perceptibly changed, the
change was not clearly to be accounted for. It had certainly not
been produced by Selden's arguments, or by the action of his own
soberer reason. Five minutes' talk sufficed to show that some
alien influence had been at work, and that it had not so much
subdued his resentment as weakened his will, so that he moved
under it in a state of apathy, like a dangerous lunatic who has
been drugged. Temporarily, no doubt, however exerted, it worked
for the general safety: the question was how long it would last,
and by what kind of reaction it was likely to be followed. On
these points Selden could gain no light; for he saw that one
effect of the transformation had been to shut him off from free
communion with Dorset. The latter, indeed, was still moved by the
irresistible desire to discuss his wrong; but, though he revolved
about it with the same forlorn tenacity, Selden was aware that
something always restrained him from full expression. His state
was one to produce first weariness and then impatience in his
hearer; and when their talk was over, Selden began to feel that
he had done his utmost, and might justifiably wash his hands of
the sequel.
It was in this mind that he had been making his way back to the
station when Miss Bart crossed his path; but though, after his
brief word with her, he kept mechanically on his course, he was
conscious of a gradual change in his purpose. The change had been
produced by the look in her eyes; and in his eagerness to define
the nature of that look, he dropped into a seat in the gardens,
and sat brooding upon the question. It was natural enough, in all
conscience, that she should appear anxious: a young woman
placed, in the close intimacy of a yachting-cruise, between a
couple on the verge of disaster, could hardly, aside from her
concern for her friends, be insensible to the awkwardness of her
own position. The worst of it was that, in interpreting Miss
Bart's state of mind, so many alternative readings were possible;
and one of these, in Selden's troubled mind, took the ugly form
suggested by Mrs. Fisher. If the girl was afraid, was she afraid
for herself or for her friends? And to what degree was her dread
of a catastrophe intensified by the sense of being fatally
involved in it? The burden of offence lying manifestly with Mrs.
Dorset, this conjecture seemed on the face of it gratuitously
unkind; but Selden knew that in the most one-sided matrimonial
quarrel there are generally counter-charges to be brought, and
that they are brought with the greater audacity where the
original grievance is so emphatic. Mrs. Fisher had not hesitated
to suggest the likelihood of Dorset's marrying Miss Bart if
"anything happened"; and though Mrs. Fisher's conclusions were
notoriously rash, she was shrewd enough in reading the signs from
which they were drawn. Dorset had apparently shown marked
interest in the girl, and this interest might be used to cruel
advantage in his wife's struggle for rehabilitation. Selden knew
that Bertha would fight to the last round of powder: the rashness
of her conduct was illogically combined with a cold determination
to escape its consequences. She could be as unscrupulous in
fighting for herself as she was reckless in courting danger, and
whatever came to her hand at such moments was likely to be used
as a defensive missile. He did not, as yet, see clearly just what
course she was likely to take, but his perplexity increased his
apprehension, and with it the sense that, before leaving, he must
speak again with Miss Bart. Whatever her share in the
situation--and he had always honestly tried to resist judging her
by her surroundings--however free she might be from any personal
connection with it, she would be better out of the way of a
possible crash; and since she had appealed to him for help, it
was clearly his business to tell her so.
This decision at last brought him to his feet, and carried him
back to the gambling rooms, within whose doors he had seen her
disappearing; but a prolonged exploration of the crowd
failed to put him on her traces. He saw instead, to his surprise,
Ned Silverton loitering somewhat ostentatiously about the tables;
and the discovery that this actor in the drama was not only
hovering in the wings, but actually inviting the exposure of the
footlights, though it might have seemed to imply that all peril
was over, served rather to deepen Selden's sense of foreboding.
Charged with this impression he returned to the square, hoping to
see Miss Bart move across it, as every one in Monte Carlo seemed
inevitably to do at least a dozen times a day; but here again he
waited vainly for a glimpse of her, and the conclusion was slowly
forced on him that she had gone back to the Sabrina. It would be
difficult to follow her there, and still more difficult, should
he do so, to contrive the opportunity for a private word; and he
had almost decided on the unsatisfactory alternative of writing,
when the ceaseless diorama of the square suddenly unrolled before
him the figures of Lord Hubert and Mrs. Bry.
Hailing them at once with his question, he learned from Lord
Hubert that Miss Bart had just returned to the Sabrina in
Dorset's company; an announcement so evidently disconcerting to
him that Mrs. Bry, after a glance from her companion, which
seemed to act like the pressure on a spring, brought forth the
prompt proposal that he should come and meet his friends at
dinner that evening--"At Becassin's--a little dinner to the
Duchess," she flashed out before Lord Hubert had time to remove
the pressure.
Selden's sense of the privilege of being included in such company
brought him early in the evening to the door of the restaurant,
where he paused to scan the ranks of diners approaching down the
brightly lit terrace. There, while the Brys hovered within over
the last agitating alternatives of the MENU, he kept watch for
the guests from the Sabrina, who at length rose on the horizon in
company with the Duchess, Lord and Lady Skiddaw and the Stepneys.
From this group it was easy for him to detach Miss Bart on the
pretext of a moment's glance into one of the brilliant shops
along the terrace, and to say to her, while they lingered
together in the white dazzle of a jeweller's window: "I stopped
over to see you--to beg of you to leave the yacht."
The eyes she turned on him showed a quick gleam of her former
fear. "To leave--? What do you mean? What has happened?"
"Nothing. But if anything should, why be in the way of it?"
The glare from the jeweller's window, deepening the pallour of
her face, gave to its delicate lines the sharpness of a tragic
mask. "Nothing will, I am sure; but while there's even a doubt
left, how can you think I would leave Bertha?"
The words rang out on a note of contempt--was it possibly of
contempt for himself? Well, he was willing to risk its renewal to
the extent of insisting, with an undeniable throb of added
interest: "You have yourself to think of, you know--" to which,
with a strange fall of sadness in her voice, she answered,
meeting his eyes: "If you knew how little difference that makes!"
"Oh, well, nothing WILL happen," he said, more for his own
reassurance than for hers; and "Nothing, nothing, of course!" she
valiantly assented, as they turned to overtake their companions.
In the thronged restaurant, taking their places about Mrs. Bry's
illuminated board, their confidence seemed to gain support from
the familiarity of their surroundings. Here were Dorset and his
wife once more presenting their customary faces to the world, she
engrossed in establishing her relation with an intensely new
gown, he shrinking with dyspeptic dread from the multiplied
solicitations of the MENU. The mere fact that they thus showed
themselves together, with the utmost openness the place afforded,
seemed to declare beyond a doubt that their differences were
composed. How this end had been attained was still matter for
wonder, but it was clear that for the moment Miss Bart rested
confidently in the result; and Selden tried to achieve the same
view by telling himself that her opportunities for observation
had been ampler than his own.
Meanwhile, as the dinner advanced through a labyrinth of courses,
in which it became clear that Mrs. Bry had occasionally broken
away from Lord Hubert's restraining hand, Selden's general
watchfulness began to lose itself in a particular study of Miss
Bart. It was one of the days when she was so handsome
that to be handsome was enough, and all the rest--her grace, her
quickness, her social felicities--seemed the overflow of a
bounteous nature. But what especially struck him was the way in
which she detached herself, by a hundred undefinable shades, from
the persons who most abounded in her own style. It was in just
such company, the fine flower and complete expression of the
state she aspired to, that the differences came out with special
poignancy, her grace cheapening the other women's smartness as
her finely-discriminated silences made their chatter dull. The
strain of the last hours had restored to her face the deeper
eloquence which Selden had lately missed in it, and the bravery
of her words to him still fluttered in her voice and eyes. Yes,
she was matchless--it was the one word for her; and he could give
his admiration the freer play because so little personal feeling
remained in it. His real detachment from her had taken place, not
at the lurid moment of disenchantment, but now, in the sober
after-light of discrimination, where he saw her definitely
divided from him by the crudeness of a choice which seemed to
deny the very differences he felt in her. It was before him again
in its completeness--the choice in which she was content to rest:
in the stupid costliness of the food and the showy dulness of the
talk, in the freedom of speech which never arrived at wit and the
freedom of act which never made for romance. The strident setting
of the restaurant, in which their table seemed set apart in a
special glare of publicity, and the presence at it of little
Dabham of the "Riviera Notes," emphasized the ideals of a world
where conspicuousness passed for distinction, and the society
column had become the roll of fame.
It was as the immortalizer of such occasions that little Dabham,
wedged in modest watchfulness between two brilliant neighbours,
suddenly became the centre of Selden's scrutiny. How much did he
know of what was going on, and how much, for his purpose, was
still worth finding out? His little eyes were like tentacles
thrown out to catch the floating intimations with which, to
Selden, the air at moments seemed thick; then again it cleared to
its normal emptiness, and he could see nothing in it for the
journalist but leisure to note the elegance of the ladies' gowns.
Mrs. Dorset's, in particular, challenged all the wealth
of Mr. Dabham's vocabulary: it had surprises and subtleties
worthy of what he would have called "the literary style." At
first, as Selden had noticed, it had been almost too preoccupying
to its wearer; but now she was in full command of it, and was
even producing her effects with unwonted freedom. Was she not,
indeed, too free, too fluent, for perfect naturalness? And was
not Dorset, to whom his glance had passed by a natural
transition, too jerkily wavering between the same extremes?
Dorset indeed was always jerky; but it seemed to Selden that
tonight each vibration swung him farther from his centre.
The dinner, meanwhile, was moving to its triumphant close, to the
evident satisfaction of Mrs. Bry, who, throned in apoplectic
majesty between Lord Skiddaw and Lord Hubert, seemed in spirit to
be calling on Mrs. Fisher to witness her achievement. Short of
Mrs. Fisher her audience might have been called complete; for the
restaurant was crowded with persons mainly gathered there for the
purpose of spectatorship, and accurately posted as to the names
and faces of the celebrities they had come to see. Mrs. Bry,
conscious that all her feminine guests came under that heading,
and that each one looked her part to admiration, shone on Lily
with all the pent-up gratitude that Mrs. Fisher had failed to
deserve. Selden, catching the glance, wondered what part Miss
Bart had played in organizing the entertainment. She did, at
least, a great deal to adorn it; and as he watched the bright
security with which she bore herself, he smiled to think that he
should have fancied her in need of help. Never had she appeared
more serenely mistress of the situation than when, at the moment
of dispersal, detaching herself a little from the group about the
table, she turned with a smile and a graceful slant of the
shoulders to receive her cloak from Dorset.
The dinner had been protracted over Mr. Bry's exceptional cigars
and a bewildering array of liqueurs, and many of the other tables
were empty; but a sufficient number of diners still lingered to
give relief to the leave-taking of Mrs. Bry's distinguished
guests. This ceremony was drawn out and complicated by the fact
that it involved, on the part of the Duchess and Lady Skiddaw,
definite farewells, and pledges of speedy reunion in Paris, where
they were to pause and re
plenish their wardrobes on the
way to England. The quality of Mrs. Bry's hospitality, and of the
tips her husband had presumably imparted, lent to the manner of
the English ladies a general effusiveness which shed the rosiest
light over their hostess's future. In its glow Mrs. Dorset and
the Stepneys were also visibly included, and the whole scene had
touches of intimacy worth their weight in gold to the watchful
pen of Mr. Dabham.
A glance at her watch caused the Duchess to exclaim to her sister
that they had just time to dash for their train, and the flurry
of this departure over, the Stepneys, who had their motor at the
door, offered to convey the Dorsets and Miss Bart to the quay.
The offer was accepted, and Mrs. Dorset moved away with her
husband in attendance. Miss Bart had lingered for a last word
with Lord Hubert, and Stepney, on whom Mr. Bry was pressing a
final, and still more expensive, cigar, called out: "Come on,
Lily, if you're going back to the yacht."
Lily turned to obey; but as she did so, Mrs. Dorset, who had
paused on her way out, moved a few steps back toward the table.
"Miss Bart is not going back to the yacht," she said in a voice
of singular distinctness.
A startled look ran from eye to eye; Mrs. Bry crimsoned to the
verge of congestion, Mrs. Stepney slipped nervously behind her
husband, and Selden, in the general turmoil of his sensations,
was mainly conscious of a longing to grip Dabham by the collar
and fling him out into the street.
Dorset, meanwhile, had stepped back to his wife's side. His face
was white, and he looked about him with cowed angry eyes.
"Bertha!--Miss Bart . . . this is some misunderstanding . . .
some mistake . . ."
"Miss Bart remains here," his wife rejoined incisively. "And, I
think, George, we had better not detain Mrs. Stepney any longer."
Miss Bart, during this brief exchange of words, remained in
admirable erectness, slightly isolated from the embarrassed group
about her. She had paled a little under the shock of the insult,
but the discomposure of the surrounding faces was not reflected
in her own. The faint disdain of her smile seemed to lift
her high above her antagonist's reach, and it was not till she
had given Mrs. Dorset the full measure of the distance between
them that she turned and extended her hand to her hostess.
"I am joining the Duchess tomorrow," she explained, "and it
seemed easier for me to remain on shore for the night."
She held firmly to Mrs. Bry's wavering eye while she gave this
explanation, but when it was over Selden saw her send a tentative
glance from one to another of the women's faces. She read their
incredulity in their averted looks, and in the mute wretchedness
of the men behind them, and for a miserable half-second he
thought she quivered on the brink of failure. Then, turning to
him with an easy gesture, and the pale bravery of her recovered
smile--"Dear Mr. Selden," she said, "you promised to see me to my
cab." _
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